


i can see the coffin shining through my tinted window

by everAcclimating



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Assassination Attempt(s), Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, John Gets Stabbed In The Chest, M/M, Serious Injuries, Subterfuge, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27097207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everAcclimating/pseuds/everAcclimating
Summary: the kingdoms of derse and prospit have been at war for endless generations, and prospit has proposed a cease-fire. how?by marrying off their children to one another.
Relationships: John Egbert/Dirk Strider
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	i can see the coffin shining through my tinted window

Your country is at war with Prospit your entire life. It has been for generations, to the point where even the history books forgot there was a time without war. Dersites are mostly of the opinion that it's just what people do. They live, grow up, get conscripted, go to war. They assume the same thing happens in Prospit.

They must be wrong though, because Prospit is consistently fighting a losing battle.

At least they are until they propose a cease-fire, offering to marry one of their heirs off to the Derse heir as a sign of offering, a peaceful olive branch. You hope it's not you, but you're aware that you're the oldest child, the crown "princess," and you assume the Prospitians will leave one of their sons behind. You suppose you can just make friends with your future husband—hopefully there isn't a press for you to provide another generation of heirs, but you're dreading the obvious eventuality anyway. Everyone thinks you're just a tomboy because that's what your father portrays, and you can't really argue. Sure, you're attracted to men, but mostly ones that would potentially treat you like a man as well.

You can do your duty if you must, but you secretly hope that your husband will accept you as you are and not how your country portrays you.

To your surprise they bring all four of the children along to meet you. It's an interesting affair overall: the Prospitians are overwhelming but you manage yourself as well as you can, meeting them all at once and trying to not look too much like you want to bolt. You've resigned yourself to keeping your siblings safe from an arranged marriage by doing whatever is asked of you.

The Prospitians are... Something else. They're like no one you've ever met, and you instantly get a crush on the oldest son. You flush when you see him, stumble over your words, and feel shyer than ever. The thing is, after a while (the Prospitians are there a long time) you still like him but he's noncommittal and frankly emotionally exhausting. You'd be better off as friends. You like both daughters well enough but they're not your type and that leaves...

John. John, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed every morning and kind and sharp and friendly with you, is who you end up with a longer, more lasting crush on, in part because he treats you just as you want to be treated. Like a person, like a boy, like someone to be kind to. He's endlessly charming, and you're smitten with him.

You're not surprised that they decide John is the choice for you, but you are surprised they leave one morning without so much as a word to him because he stops you in the hall and says, "have you seen the rest of my family?" And you realize you haven't.

"I haven't seen them since last night," you say carefully, "but I'm sure we can find them."

John looks vaguely uncomfortable in a way you can't place. "Right," he says, "they're probably off having a fancy breakfast without me or something."

You laugh, just a little, a breathy thing because you're trying to compartmentalize, and nod. "You can yell at them for not waking you up once we find them."

But of course, they're not there. Your father informs you both that they left that morning without John, without fanfare, and you blanch as John's face falls. You can't blame him. You don't think it's fair either. But the fact that he looks _betrayed_ and the deep nature of his upset kind of hurts your feelings even though you stamp your emotions down to hide it.

Once you're alone again, John stares at you a long moment and then extends a hand toward you. "Well, I guess it's me then. Hi."

Earlier you imagined kissing the back of your betrothed's hand, but you can't do it now. You can't bring yourself to do anything but stare back at him and then shake his hand because what else can you possibly do? "I suppose it is. We don't have to—make it weird or anything, right? I'm sorry, you clearly didn't expect or want it to be you."

"I mean, it had to be somebody, right?" John's expressions are increasingly both alarmed and alarming, and he jerks his hand back so quickly after you shake it that you startle despite yourself. "Yeah, let's not make it weird or anything. It's fine."

You take a deep breath. "Neither of us has a choice in the matter, right? It's up to someone higher up than us." You can't help but exude a slightly defeated air—the one boy you actually have a crush on has reacted so badly to the mere idea of marrying you that your heart churns painfully in your chest because you feel rejected and upset. He'd been so chipper and kind when everyone was here, but as soon as they left it was like a switch flipped and he was chilly, cold. A little off. "We'll be adults about it," you finish lamely, looking away briefly.

John looks away just as you look back but it's furtive, upset, and your heart aches all the more. "We knew this was going to be a thing, so we'll just deal with it." Like an ax is hanging over his neck. You weren't looking forward to this either, so you don't understand why it's so bad that he has to act this way. Maybe he really hated you this whole time but was being polite.

"Exactly," you say instead, a little flatly. You were resigned already to a loveless marriage, and that's clearly what this is going to be, so you just have to deal with it. "It's for the best of both of our kingdoms if we treat this with the decorum it deserves."

"Right," he says, stammering a little on the word like he's choking on it, "since we'll be working together from now on, I suppose."

You smile at him to try and bolster him a little, but you can tell it looks off and stilted even as you make it, nothing like the genuine smiles you had for him all week. "I guess they'll be planning it very quickly, to get it over with. I could do without all the fanfare, personally, but since it's a political move..."

John opens his mouth once, closes it again, looks upset, then schools his expression to something flat. "Yes, they're going to be very extravagant about it, but I think we're just going to be very bored during it."

Your feelings are so hurt that it's probably palpable. "Definitely. We can't even bring something else to occupy ourselves with, so we'll just have to suffer through it. Nothing to be done for it."

"Well, we'll live," he says, but it sounds dry, like he's giving the punchline to an in-joke with himself. You frown, but maybe this is just how he normally talks. Maybe it's not as weird as it feels like it is.

"That's the point, isn't it?" You say, but from his expression you think you've said something wrong.

There's not much time to dwell on it though because you're both swept up into preparations instantly. It doesn't take long since they're just fitting John into a cookie-cutter wedding, so within the week you're standing in front of the altar and trying to keep your expression from crumbling. At least they let you wear a suit. Small favors.

John is full of listless malaise the entire week of preparation, and now he's standing next to you with his jaw set. His family didn't even come to the wedding, which you think is unconscionable since they left him here without a single word.

It makes you angry, actually, and you hate it. You'd kept from pressing him too hard for anything during the preparations because you figured part of his upset was that he was obviously just being placed in a husband shaped hole in something quick and impersonal so you can't blame him. You're worried about pushing him too hard, pushing him further away.

There's the part after the vows where you're supposed to kiss but this time you do bow and kiss his knuckles, hand in yours. It's all you'll grant yourself, but it's short lived because your glasses slip down your nose and you're so afraid of John seeing the full brunt of the emotions you hide that you release him to shove them back up before he can look at your eyes longer than a split-second.

He seems so distraught that you think maybe he caught it, though. He takes a deep breath and schools his expression and your wedding finishes.

Together you entertain guest after guest and finally after an exhausting day you're alone together in the chambers you're meant to share and he speaks to you directly for the first time in hours. "I'm not upset about it," he says, and something in your heart lifts, hopeful. "That my siblings didn't show up," he amends, and your heart drops again. "It's just what they're like, so you don't have to be upset about it either."

You're so anxious that you start pacing but you hide it as best you can by starting to pull off your formal jacket and steering yourself to the changing screen so that you can get ready for bed. "I don't care," you say, "they should have come." You toss your jacket over a chair and start on your shirt—there's nothing sensual about it, you have no illusions about that—and continue. "I know this isn't what you wanted in any capacity, that much is clear, but they still should have supported you."

You toss your shirt away too before realizing that since you did this in the open John can see every scar you have from the years of fighting, of the Dersite tradition of the royal family joining the army on the front lines, girls and boys both, to prove their worth to the kingdom. You're self conscious so you disappear behind the screen, hunching into yourself and speaking. "Even if you're not upset about it, I'm sorry they weren't here for you."

"They're bad with feelings," John explains, "they like to pretend they're not, but they are." He sounds fond, almost wistful, and you frown in hiding. "I guess they were worried that showing up might feel too much like a goodbye or something, so they just didn't. I didn't really expect them to."

"I suppose I can see that," you finally admit, "but I still think it's unfair to you, especially since they didn't say an _actual_ goodbye to you when they left." You wander out once your pajamas are on and go to flop on your normal side of the bed, face down as you plant your glasses on the side table. "I know we have to share a space now," you add, turning your head and keeping your eyes closed so that John can hear you but not see your eyes, "but I'm running off the assumption that neither of us is expecting anything from each other just because we're married now. I want to be clear about that."

John touches your hair once and you almost melt but then he jerks back so violently you can _feel_ it and your heart twists uncomfortably in your chest again. "It..." He sounds like he's frowning. "We probably shouldn't right away. Not until we know each other better. Is that okay?"

You open your eyes and John is sitting there with his hands primly in his lap and you close them again before he can see how hurt you feel. You hunch your shoulders awkwardly, then nod. "I'm never going to expect it from you. If you want to later, that's fine too, but I'm never going to try and force the matter."

You roll over so you're not facing John at all but he answers you anyway. "I wouldn't mind it, but later. Like, way way later."

You run your tongue over your teeth. It's fine. It's just a transaction. "That's fine," you say, "I'm not in a rush. Hilarious in our situation, I know, but I hope you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." John briefly sounds like he's stumbling over his words, then adds, "Thank you for being understanding about everything. Um. Goodnight?"

You sigh and nod, reaching out to turn out the bedside lamp. "I mean, I get it. You got the short end of the stick. I'm not going to be weird about it, so it's okay." You realize partway through it that you sound forlorn and you hate yourself. "Goodnight, John." You can't take any more of this tonight.

John shifts next to you in the dark. "... Okay. Alright. Goodnight." You don't point out that he already said goodnight because he sounds closed off again.

You're exhausted, but sleep eludes you for a long time.


End file.
